Fiducial Custody
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Tag: S.1 E.1: Pilot. Fighting a fever and trying to work a murder case, Danny's day just gets better after having a hostile run-in with the victim's son. Kicked off the case, suspended, Danny never thought he have to see Steve again - so why is the SEAL so insistent in not going away?


**Disclaimer: I have no ownership over Hawaii Five-0, nor this episode.**

 **Episode Tag:** _ **Season 1, Episode 1: Pilot**_ **. Some lines taken from the episode. Just more drama to the original meeting; i.e. they pretty much** _ **hate**_ **each other's guts. But I'm sure it'll al be okay in the end, I promise. Enjoy.**

 **Summary:** _Fighting a fever and trying to work a murder case, Danny's day just gets better after having a hostile run-in with the victim's son. Kicked off the case, suspended, Danny never thought he have to see Steve again - so why is the SEAL so insistent in not going away?_

 **HAWAII . FIVE - 0**

* * *

 **Fiducial Custody**

Danny grimaced as he downed his second cap of _DayQuil Cold & Flu _since he'd parked outside the McGarrett Home.

He'd spent his weekend with Grace (the first full one he'd had in the last two months), nursing his baby girl through the flu. Of course, Rachel tried to even yank that and Danny was forced to _convince_ his ex-wife that he _knew_ how to take care of his own daughter, ill or not. He'd done it before, and a cold resentment built in him towards the woman at the implication that he was a bad father and could not. His—failed—marriage did not reflect his parenting.

Of course, his own little shitty apartment was no place to nurse a fever. So he'd got the weekend in the Hilton, zeroing out his pay check for this month and the next, but it was worth it. Sweating out her fever, dealing with snotty tissues, rubbing Vicks on her upper chest, supplementing her diet with broth, Buckley's, fluids and medicine. A cranky eight-year-old.

But a weekend with his ailing daughter was better than not being able to see her for longer than it took for him to pick her up from school and drop her back home to Rachel.

He'd broken her fever and she was well on the mend, if exhausted, when next he dropped her back with her mom with the promise that the next time they stayed at the Hilton, it would be for her to swim with the dolphins, not battle the flu.

Now, he was trying to fight off his second-hand bug that he'd picked up from Grace over the weekend, nipping it in the bud with over the counter cold medicine and lots of fluids before it forced him to take some sick leave. After just six months with the Honolulu Police Department, it was something that he couldn't afford. He was treated like a pariah because he was from the 'Mainland' and he was always got assigned the shit cases. They called him _ha'ole_ in a derisive and disrespectful tone and manner, never by his name. He had no idea what it meant or how to spell it, so he could never just look it up and figure out what they were calling him.

Until Meka Hanamoa—another detective, and his on-again off-again partner, the only one in the precinct who was _willing_ to partner with him—finally let him in on the 'insult' that was always spat at him. He was confused initially because he was proud of where he was born, of where he grew up. He _loved_ New Jersey. But the way they said it, like an insult, like it made him less and he should feel the same way, rankled him. It made him resent them, he hated _bullies_ and that was what they were—overgrown bullies. Danny never thought he'd be a victim of bigotry. They made him dread coming into work—a job that he loved and was proud of.

Well, he didn't want to be here as much as they seemed to not want him here. He was only on this pineapple, godforsaken island because it was the only way he'd ever get to see his baby girl. But he wasn't going to let it affect his work.

And to top it all off, Meka—the only friendly face around the place—was on the Big Island for some Task Force Conference and he was saddled with a case that he had felt was _discarded_ on his desk. A retired cop from the same precinct who was killed in what appeared to be, at first glance, an home invasion a few days earlier. It was disrespectful to a fellow (retired) officer.

He'd done some background into the guy and he appeared to be an amazing detective, a good man. He thought it shameful that the rest of the cops would just put the case on an 'outsider.' Back in Newark P.D., if one of their own was killed—in the line of duty, off duty, retired—it didn't matter, the whole squad would be baying for the perpetrator. No one would or want to stand in their way of putting one of there own to rest proper.

So, Danny was going to drug this fever into submission before it could do the same to him, do right by this retired cop, find the bastards who had killed him, find justice for John McGarrett's children and hopefully it would help them grieve knowing their father's killer(s) weren't on the loose anymore.

He hadn't actually been to the scene yet. By the time the case was on his desk, the scene was already processed and the body taken to the morgue. But at least when it _did_ get to him, the evidence had been processed and was ready for him to follow some leads. He already had a tap warrant cooking from a hit on the bullet that had ended John McGarrett's life.

He'd seen pictures of the scene, but he wanted to walk through the place. See with his own eyes. Get his own feeling of the scene and come to his own conclusions of what had happened in the moment of the crime instead of reading it second-hand from cops who didn't give a crap.

Danny screwed the cap back onto the bottle and tossed it back into the glove box that was overflowing with other cold medicines, half of which he'd already used today and it was barely lunch.

Taking his keys from the ignition, he got out of his car. He stretched his hands overhead, feeling the pull of his achy muscles. He made sure he had everything (badge, gun, pair of latex gloves, notebook/pen(lite)/file, cell, and pocket knife), before he locked his Mustang GT. He smoothed his tie as he crossed the street from where he parked to the house.

He went through the little front gate under the hedged arch, and over the stone path to the front porch. It was a nice, rambling house. Little too close to the water for his own tastes with a private little beach. The crashing waves would drive him nuts while he was trying to sleep. But it was easy to see raising a family here.

On the steps, he pinned the file under his armpit and slipped on the pair of latex gloves. He got out his pocket-knife and cut the crime scene seal on the door. Having gotten the keys from evidence, he unlocked the door, clearing his throat as he stepped inside, closing it behind him and locking it again.

He paused in the entryway, just taking in the ambience of the room before he stepped in further. His steps were slow as he took in the photos on the wall on his way to the home office where John McGarrett had been killed at the back of the house. Danny paused in the entryway, and opened his file with the crime scene photos.

A section of blood was still stained the floor, having seeped through the rug onto the hardwood where John McGarrett had been killed. Duct tapped to a dinning room chair, he'd been shot point-blank. A single shot. The bullet that was recovered was the one that got a striation hitand put Det. Williams on the scent of a low-level gun-runner named Doran. The chair and rug had been collected by CSU.

Danny held up the wide shot of the scene as it had been discovered when a neighbour had called 9-1-1 after hearing the shot that had killed John McGarrett.

Nothing appeared to have been stolen, but there was no one to corroborate that assumption. John McGarrett was the sole occupant of 2727 Piikoi St. His wife, Doris McGarrett, a school teacher, had been killed in a car accident in 1992. From what records Danny had found, it didn't seem like either his son or daughter had been on the island in years. His youngest daughter lived in L.A.. And his eldest son was somewhere classified in the Navy.

Danny lowered the photo and slowly walked around right of the office. A boot print had been left; so he knew for sure there was at least one assailant (Hesse was the suspect, but no fingerprints or DNA had been found at the scene to confirm). Danny was sure there at least had to be another. John McGarrett may have been older, but he was a trained officer and would have put up a fight if he could. Obviously, firearms were involved and the killers' didn't believe in gentle handling by the bruising on John McGarrett's face.

He passed the glass-panelled side door in the office; that was the believed entrance point. There were indications that it had been picked. Danny came around to the desk and contemplated the blank rubber mat at the center. He consulted his photos and his evidence list. There was no record of a laptop, but it had been flagged as a possible theft.

Possible motive. It wasn't unheard of for retired cops to continue investigating on those cases that just couldn't be forgotten. Maybe John McGarrett was poking where he shouldn't have and that was what had gotten him killed.

Danny was about to move on when a dark smudge at the edge of the desk caught his eye. Glancing back at the photo, but it was clean. On closer inspection of the desk, the blond discovered it was a... **palm print**?! Danny blinked at it in confusion; there was nothing on it in the file. Taking out his cell, he snapped several shots of it on his phone. He'd run it as soon as he got back to the precinct.

Still pondering on the sudden appearance of an unknown palm print, Danny took out the McGarrett Home keys and found the appropriate key for the lock on the office door. He wanted to observe the perpetrators' path into and away from the scene. He locked it behind him and looked left and right. Less than ten feet in front of him was a cluster of trees and brush that separated the beach home from the neighbours. There was no path left or right, just overgrown grass.

Danny wiped the sweat from his warm forehead with his wrist as he turned right, back towards the front of the house. He folded the file over without a crease and put it in his free back pocket. He watched his steps carefully, closing in on the garage's side door, about to take his latex gloves off when he heard an indeterminate rattle.

Danny froze instantly and waited, his heart thumping in a sudden adrenaline surge that made a headache blossom at the rush. He heard it again a moment later—and it was coming from the garage. The sudden appearance of the palm print on the desk entered and exited his mind; a possible relation? Could whoever done that, still be here? But who—?

The Detective pulled his service weapon from the holster on his right hip next to his H.P.D. shield, gloves forgotten. He slowly edged to the door and cautiously peered through the smudged window in the door. The light was dim in the garage but beyond a car in repair, at the counter cluttered with tools, he saw a tall, dark-haired man.

Danny eased the door open with his left hand, his right steady with his SIG Pro trained on the intruder, whose back was to him.

"-D!" the start of his voice was drowned out by the bang of a metal lid as he stepped from behind the Mercury Marques. "Don't move!"

The man was fast as he spun and the next thing Danny knew, there was a SIG-Sauer trained on his heart. "Who are you?!" he barked.

Danny started for a second as he saw the face of the man and felt a tickle of recognition, but he shoved it aside and focused. "Det. Danny Williams, H.P.D.! Now drop the weapon! I won't ask again."

The tall man eyed the blond for a moment, noting the gold H.P.D. badge on his belt to support his claim. Holding out his left palm forward, he slowly lowered his gun, safety on, back into his thigh holster. Danny watched him for a moment longer, before he relaxed enough to holster his own weapon. But he didn't let his guard down.

"I'm C-"

"Steve McGarrett!" Danny blurted; it was easier now to realize he recognized the man from the photos he'd seen in the house and on his file without the threat of a gun in his face.

Steve's brow shot up. "Do I know you?"

"No." Danny gave his head a little shake. "Listen, uh, I'm sorry about your father, but you cannot be in here."

"It's my father's house."

"That may be, but it's still an active crime scene. You can't be here."

"It doesn't look very active to me." Steve retorted.

"I can't share information with you on an open case, you should know this, being Navy. I cannot make an exception, I'm sorry."

Steve stared at him for a hard moment, his jaw muscles jumping. "Fine. I'm leaving." He grasped the red toolbox's handle with his left and picked it up. He breezed passed Danny, the detective rotating to follow him with narrowed eyes.

"Where do you think you're going with that?" he questioned.

Steve halted and turned around. "I came with this." He gestured the toolbox.

"Right." Danny agreed. He approached the counter that Steve had just vacated and inspected the obvious sign of the toolbox's previous home. "So this dust void I'm looking at is all in my head, huh?" he ran a gloved fingertip through it.

"It's pretty dim in here," Steve granted with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Mm." Danny hummed in agreement. Steve seemed to take that as acceptance to continue on his exit, before Danny swiftly pulled a penlight from his pocket and shone it on the void. "Nope. It looks pretty clear to me. Want to try again?" he crossed his arms over his chest.

Steve let out a sharp exhale through his nose, his grip clenching on the metal handle. "It's _just_ a tool box."

The slight frown at the corner of Danny's mouth showed just how much he believed that statement. "Be that as it may... you need to put the box down, Lt. Commander McGarrett, and you need to leave. Or my bracelet's will go great with the thigh holster." He warned, holding up said silver handcuffs from the clip at the back of his belt. This man was being stubborn and it was not helping with his overall feeling of unwellness.

"You'll arrest me?" Steve chuckled dismissively.. "I don't think so."

"I do." Danny countered seriously. "You've broken into an active crime scene, disturbed evidence... and I'm going to assume _taking_ evidence."

"It's not breaking and entering if it's my _family home._ " He retorted. "And it's just a toolbox; it's unrelated to my father."

" _I_ will determine that." Danny gave a long exhale and briefly closed his eyes, begging the pressure in his head to go away so he could handle this! "Look, Steve." He addressed the man by his first name. "I'm sorry about your father. I can't even imagine. I know how angry you must be, how much you want to _do_ something. You think you can handle it and the police can't. But you cannot just break into a crime scene—your home or not—and _take_ evidence. You're hindering this case, not helping it." He smoothed a hand over his hair. "Now, I'm trying to find the guys who did this and I can't if you-"

"So am I." Steve interrupted. " _I will_. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"So enlighten me." Danny waved an inviting hand. "You know something? Then tell me. I will look into it, I promise. I'm the lead investigator on your father's case-"

"A ha'ole who wears a tie." Steve scoffed. "This is Hawai'i, we don't wear ties. How long have you been with Honolulu P.D.?"

"That doesn't matter." He took a controlled breath to stabilize the instant flare of irritation and resentment that name elicited in him. "It does not matter if I'm from the mainland. It doesn't make me any less of a detective. I didn't know your father, but I read his service file. He was a great cop and he knew how to do his job—and I intend to give him justice. But I cannot do that if I have to worry about you interfering with my investigation!" his hand cut through the air in a brief moment of loss of control as his voice rose.

Steve watched him. The silence that hung between the pair was just as tense as the tall man. Then silently, lips tight, Steve set the Champ toolbox on the trunk of the Marques next to him. "Not for long."

Danny paused. He let out a silent breath in relief; he was glad the man decided to back down. He didn't want to have to arrest the grieving son. "Good." He said quietly. "Listen, Steve." He waved a friendly hand, "I promise I will keep you updated when I can, alright? Now I-"

"No," Steve stopped him, his hand in his pocket. "I mean—this case won't be yours for much longer." He pulled out his cell phone and dialled.

Danny sighed. "You're calling my Captain to voice a complaint?"

"Nah." Steve shook his head, his phone to his ear. "I'm going just a little higher than that."

Danny crinkled his brows in confusion. "High-"

"Uh, yeah. Governor Jameson please. Tell her it's Steve McGarrett. She's expecting me." Steve stared at Danny with a little smirk at the corner of his lips.

"Are you serious?" Danny scoffed at the man, unimpressed. "You think you can scare me away with that load of cr-"

Steve put his phone on speaker and held it up. " _Commander. Governor Jameson here, what can I do for you?"_

"You're kidding me." The blond muttered. He rubbed a tired hand over his face. If this guy was for real... it was the last thing Danny needed. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears at his mounting anger that he had so far been suppressing.

He tried to reason that this guy was just upset, his father was dead and he felt that there was no movement in the case. But of course there was, it just wasn't like it was on the TV. It was all slow, slogging through paperwork, confirming statements, waiting on the autopsy and crime lab, red tape and judges, followed by the takedown; which was more times than not, not very action packed. But then there were those times where he feared for his life and thought of his baby girl—and then it was over. But this guy might not get that, being a SEAL that probably was leashed like a rabid dog before he was released to ravish hell on whomever he was unleashed upon. Right now, it looked like his target was Danny, who seemed to be in his way.

Steve's expression was smug as he put his cell back on private and to his ear. "Governor, I'll take the job. ~ Let's just say I found something to change my mind." His glance cut sideways at Danny. "~ Oh no, immediately. And I'll be taking over my father's case. I'll transfer to the reserves and run your Task Force."

Or maybe... this guy was just an asshole, grief or no.

Danny had read John McGarrett's service file, he was a good cop, a _great_ cop. But that didn't always correlate to the **man.** From what he was able to discern, there'd been no contact with the daughter, Mary Ann, for _years_. Danny hadn't found activity on her passport to indicate that she even came back to Hawaii for her father's funeral. The detective couldn't readily discern if the lack of communication between father and son was out of a rocky personal relationship, or Steve's career in the Navy which was classified.

 _Asshole_ , Danny thought as he yanked his latex gloves off and stuffed them into his shirt breast pocket, listening as Steve turned his back, held up his right palm—and started to recite the pledge of Allegiance! He crossed his arms over his tie and scoffed, muttering profanities under his breath.

Whatever the reason, Steve McGarrett was on his last nerve. Danny hadn't been feeling well to begin with this morning. He'd hardly rested taking care of Grace (not that he blamed her, he could never blame her, not for anything). He had to deal with the usual _ha'ole_ shit at work. He was trying to fight off a fever and he didn't think he was doing a very good job of it. Plus this jerk in front of him—it all was making for a bad retelling of a Mentos in a 2 ltr. bottle of soda pop; the cap was going to blow off any minute now.

"Thank you, Governor." Steve hung up and slipped his cell back into his cargo pocket. He stared at Danny. "It's my crime scene now."

"Did I somehow offend you so badly in the ten minutes we've known each other, that you go beyond yourself to get me thrown off your father's case?!" Danny fumed. Oh yeah, his professional courtesy (for which there appeared to be none now) was gone, his decency as a person to be respectful to the bereaved, kaput. "Was it the part where I begged you not to screw with evidence, and you did anyway? Or was it when I was the only one that gave a sh-"

"A call is being put into your captain at this very moment, as we speak." Steve interrupted him with an even voice. "You are no longer lead on this case. You're not on this case at all. Face it, Det. Williams—you are no longer relevant."

Danny's fists clenched at his sides, straining with the urge to punch this bastard's lights out. "You-" his cell phone interrupted his rant.

"You really should get that." Steve pointed out. "Pretty sure it's your captain telling you what I just said. Don't worry, I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere." He crossed his arms loosely over his chest and leaned a hip against the Marques' trunk next to the Champ box.

Danny glared at him as his cell continued to ring, before he grudgingly took it from his pocket and answered it. "Williams. ~ Captain. ~ Yes, I'm aware the Go- ~ I'm with him right now, sir. ~ I was just following pro- ~ Everything. Got it. ~ Wha- you can't fu-" he barely managed to stop himself from cussing out his boss. He pinched the bridge of his nose, ducking his head as he listened to the captain who was _so_ happy to have the Governor yank a case out of his precinct and given to some yahoo with a gun. "I unders- ~ _Perfectly._ " Even as the dial tone sounded in his ear, he stilled, utter rage spotted his vision for a moment as his white-knuckle grip on his cell made the plastic creak. He inhaled a juddering breath, his anger balled at the base of his throat as he pocketed his cell and straightened to stare at the man who seemed intent on ruining his career.

"Nice chat?" Steve gave him an insolent smirk. "Clear everything up?"

"That was my boss, he was _very_ happy after his own chat with the Governor. So traditionally he passed on that happiness to yours truly." He retorted in tight sarcasm. "You got your wish, I'm off the case." He inhaled deeply through his nose and continued in a flat tone. "Officers are boxing up the files for you as we speak for you to pick up at the precinct." What that really meant was that they were going through his desk, doing god knows what.

It was fucking hot and stifling in this garage and with his rage, it combined to make his sweat and nauseas.

"Here." Danny stalked closed the distance between them; Steve straightened on his approach, probably expecting a fight with how coiled the blond was. He pulled the folded file from his back pocket and slapped in onto the man's chest. Steve raised a hand flat against the folder to hold it in place. "House keys," Danny dropped the keychain with a clatter onto the lid of the Champ box on the trunk. And just to top it off, the Jersey man pulled his discarded latex gloves from his breast pocket and tucked them mockingly behind the folder against Steve's chest. "They help you catch the bad guy and stop you from _contaminating_ the scene. Maybe you should invest."

Steve looked back at him with a 100-yard stare, cool as a cucumber, not a bead of sweat glistening on his tan skin. Danny was sweating like a pig, and it irritated him. The summers were always hot and heat-stricken in New Jersey, but at least they were bitter and cold in the winter. In Hawaii, it never changed. 110 degrees year-round. Just another thing to hate.

"You may have been Navy Intelligence and whatever the hell else, but that is not the same as being a cop. You're in a whole new ballpark now, pal. I just hope you realize how in over your head you are before you get innocent people hurt or killed with your this vendetta bullshit."

"You don't know anything about me." Steve informed him, taking the folder properly in one had against his hip, his other fisted the latex gloves.

"Whatever." Danny told him harshly. "I have no reason to care anymore—I'm no longer _relevant_ , remember?" the detective brushed passed him to the side door he'd come through (how he wished it was just some stray cat knocking around and not this Neanderthal). "Don't fuck it up, McGarrett. If not for your father, than this new Task Force the Governor gave you. _God help up all_." He uttered, the door slamming behind him.

Chest heaving, Danny didn't even pause. He just turned and headed back towards the front of the house, stumbling slightly through the overgrown grass alongside the side of the house. He cut across the street with not a backwards glance, nor a left or right on the quiet street. He unlocked his Mustang with the fob, and slipped the key into the ignition before he was even seated properly. The engine purred to life and he peeled away from the curb—he needed to get away as fast as possible and if he never saw that man again, it would be too soon.

But he didn't get very far. He was forced to pullover two blocks down. He jumped from the car and hands supported on his knees, he retched over the gutter. He did **not** feel well. The fever and whatever else he was fighting was definitely worse; it was like it fed off his anger and attacked at a weak moment when he was in that damn garage with McGarrett.

Danny straightened and got back into the car. He wiped his sweat-soaked face on the shoulder of his shirt. He made his way home, his grip on the steering wheel tight and clammy.

Maybe this was a good thing. He couldn't work like this. He was exhausted from his weekend with Grace. He was so angry he didn't know what to do with it. He felt so unwell he didn't think he could. His pride at being a cop be damned. When next he went into work... he didn't even want to think about it. It certainly wasn't going to be today, his captain explicitly told him so.

He loved very little in the world lately. Grace. And... he hardly held any happiness in his job anymore, those assholes saw to that. So Steve just took something that was already beaten and broken, and crushed it underfoot.

He made it home as the sun dimmed with storm clouds. He automatically locked the door as he kicked his loafers off. He continued to dispense of his person as he did a counter-clockwise rotation of his shitty little apartment. He emptied his pockets onto the little table to the right of his pullout couch, his badge and gun joining. His tie got hung, but his button shirt, soaked through with sweat, went into the dirty basked behind the couch with his socks. His pants were thrown over the back of the pullout. In the bathroom, he took care of business, splashed cool water on his heated face and swallowed a few ibuprofen. Continuing his circuit, he came to his crappy little kitchen and gulped down two glasses of water thirstily. And then he came full circle—back to his unsupported pullout bed.

He collapsed heavily into, the springs popping and grinding under his weight. Clad in a white undershirt and his boxers, he pulled his scratchy blanket to his shoulders—and wallowed in his fever and misery.

 **0 - xH5Ox - 0**

Steve had simply brushed off his confrontation with Danny in his father's garage earlier—and by that he meant he pushed away his anger and spark to a backseat compartment in his brain and simply focused on the fact that he was now in complete charge of tracking Hesse down and didn't have to be bothered with guys like Danny interfering again.

He tossed the latex gloves Danny had mockingly given him and opened the file slapped to his chest. There were some papers, but foremost were pictures of the crime scene. Steve fought against the lump of nausea that rose in his throat as he saw what Hesse had done to his father in all its gory detail. He'd seen head shots before, inflicted by long-rang sniper shots, to close-rang execution style. Most were what he had mete out himself. But it was entirely different to see the former imposed upon his father. It had been years since he'd been back on Hawai'i, really, since John had ferried Mary and he off to Aunt Deb on the mainland after his mother's death—this was his first sight of the man.

But he compartmentalized his grief as well. He needed to focus. He had to catch Hesse; he wasn't going to let the bastard go this time. This cat and mouse game was going to end. Putting the Champ box in a safe place, he got a taxi to the Honolulu Police Precinct.

He'd met with the captain and got all the files and evidence for his father's case. He'd commandeered an interview room and spent several hours going over it, observing the work Danny had done since assigned the case. And just to cover all his bases, Steve had pulled Danny portfolio, too.

And the SEAL came to the conclusion that Danny _was_ a good detective, he knew what he was doing. He was thorough and committed. And Steve was not going to be able to get Hesse without the cynical man.

Decision made, already going through Plan B, C, D and on as he packed up the files, he decided Plan A would work so he didn't have much to worry about. He could be very persuasive. Things had been said in that garage, harsh things from both sides, but they were grown men, they could put it passed them—for this one case, at least. Honestly, Steve hadn't been able to think passed Hesse. He was going to do what he had to, his pride be damned. He wasn't going to be able to see passed the man until there was no man to see passed.

The weather had already turned when he left the precinct and headed straight to Danny's, his address taken from his file.

He knew he was going to be the last person that Danny wanted to see, but tough. This was Steve's case now, and he wanted the detective. So there was no other conclusion to how this was going to play out.

...

Steve knocked on the thin wood of the door. Waited. When he received no response, he jimmied open one of the horizontal glass slates of the window alongside the door and peered into the apartment.

He spotted the blond sprawled out on the pullout couch in the living room/bedroom/storage room. Sleeping, of all things. It was only 1700 in the afternoon. After getting kicked off his case, the Jersey man decided to take a nap? The SEAL had a hard time believing that of what he had seen of the blond.

"Det. Williams?" he called over the sound of the rain. He didn't even get a twitch from the man. "Williams!" he shouted and pounded a fist on the door; it rattled in the frame.

Annoyed and perhaps a little concerned, Steve tucked the file he had come with under his armpit and crouched in front of the door. The short awning above him on the second-floor walkway did little to shield him from the pouring rain, and instead drained a steady flow down his back, soaking his shirt. He pulled out his pick-kit from the thigh pocket in his cargoes and made work of the mediocre lock.

Steve stepped out from the rain and into the apartment. Danny shuddered under his thin blanket at the damp draft that blew through the one-room apartment. Steve wiped his slicked boots on the old mat in front of the door, feeling uncomfortable with taking them off as he took a look around Danny's small, shitty apartment.

He was currently standing in the main room, and keeping true to his first glimpse through the window, it was also the shared space of the man's living room, bedroom, and closet. The furniture was sparse: the couch/pullout, boxes in the corner, a small side table that was overflowing. A coat stand that housed all of the detective's ha'ole clothes hangers and ties. To his immediate right was a small kitchen with just three tiles of floor space, an old fridge and stove, most of the counter space was used with the sink, the other was crowded with a kettle and toaster and microwave Overlapping the floor space that separated the two rooms was one of those tiny café tables that hardly sat a single, let alone a pair, one simple wooden dining chair. There was another door next to the kitchen which he assumed lead to the bathroom.

"Danny!" he barked, using the man's first name. The man hardly even seemed to twitch. Perhaps the man was drunk? But glancing around, Steve didn't even glimpse an empty beer bottle in the recycling. He put his file on the table and approached the pullout.

Looking down at the man, he saw his flushed face and glistening skin. His heavy breathing. Definitely not napping, nor passed-out drunk. Steve put a hand on the man's shoulder and could feel the excess warmth through his tee sleeve. "Hey! Wake up. Danny!" He gave the man a shake, and the man made a growl-y sound in protest. "Shit." He uttered. He moved his hand from Danny's shoulder and laid it against his forehead just to be sure. "You're burning up, buddy."

Danny made a friendlier sound at the contact of Steve's cool hand, and the SEAL gave a faint snort; definitely friendlier when fevered.

"Alright. Jeez." Steve straightened, shoving his fingers into his hair as his gaze shot around the small apartment. Danny made a small noise of protest. Steve gave a short chuckle and shake of his head, and started to search the man's apartment for what he was going to need to sweat this fever out of the crotchety detective. "Hang on."

Call it his conscious, or his guilt. Or mostly it was the fact that he _needed_ Danny's help to get his hands on Hesse. He was going to nurse the detective whether he was aware and wanting or not.

Going through drawers, cabinets, and even a couple boxes, Steve found some wash cloths. He soaked one with cool water from the kitchen sink and laid it across Danny heated head. The blond made a murmur of appreciation and settled down. Steve found a set of extra sheets and threw them over the thin blanket, pulling it up around the man's shoulders. Steve went around the room and shuttered the windows more securely, cutting the draft-factor in half.

Searching the kitchen cupboards, Steve set about making himself a cup of instant coffee. He made a face, but it would have to do. Cup in hand, he sat at the café table, ankle over his knee and opened the file for some reading material as he waited.

Tending the blond as needed as early evening turned into late, turned into dawn.

 **0 - xH5Ox - 0**

"Mm." Danny sighed gently as he awoke, his eyes still closed. He stretched lethargically, before he relaxed back into his nest of blankets. He folded his flat pillow under head to give it more volume. He definitely felt better than when he got home. Maybe a good day's sleep was what he had needed to feel better.

"Finally awake, sunshine?"

Adrenaline blasted through Danny's tranquil blood at the unknown and unexpected voice in his apartment and he reacted instinctively. The voice came from the direction of his kitchen, so he rolled from the pullout in the opposite direction and off the side, the blanket flying away. His movement into a crouch was fluid as he reached for his holstered gun on the small table that sat under the bay of windows with Grace's framed photo. Discarding the holster, flicking the safety off with his thumb and aiming the weapon over the pullout towards Steve before his eyes even focused properly, was just as liquid.

"Whoa. Easy, bruh." Steve held up his hands non-threateningly from where he sat at the table, silently impressed with the detective's moves. "I'm not trying to steal anything—any self-respecting thief wouldn't be caught-"

"What the fuck?" Danny questioned as he stared at Steve in confusion, his brows furrowed as his chest panted on the come-down of the sudden adrenaline shot. "Wha- what is this? I better be hallucinating some fevered dream or I swear to-"

"You're not hallucinating." Steve told him. He glanced at the gun that was still raised and pointed at him. "Can you-?" he pointed.

"Is this some sort of about-face for what happened at the house?" Danny demanded. "Getting me kicked off the case and suspended wasn't enough for you? You had to break into my home?—while I was asleep?" he stood, gesturing with his gun hand. "Are you demented?!"

"Put the gun down before you shoot somebody— _me_ —accidentally." Steve all but ordered him. "These walls are paper-thin. I wouldn't be surprised if a bullet travelled through the whole building."

"Trust me, if is was going to shoot you, it wouldn't be an accident. You would see it, just not able to stop it." But Danny thumbed the safety back on (because the guy was probably right about the walls), and put it back in the holster, setting it beside his badge. "What are you going here, Mr. McGarrett?"

"Commander," he had the audacity to correct.

"You know what? I don't care!" Danny threw up his hands and turned to the man. "Since I'm currently off-duty—thanks to you very much—give me one good reason," he held up a finger, "not to call the cops for b 'n' e? Never mind!" he halted Steve with a slice of his hand and stocked towards the door in his boxers and tee. The brunette watched him with a cocked brow. Danny threw open the door and made a sweeping gesture out the door and into the pouring rain of the early morning. " _Get out."_

"Can I speak now?" Steve wondered, not having budged an inch.

Danny's eye twitched in irritation. "You can speak on your way out the door." He offered.

"The security here is appalling—you should be thanking me in identifying it." Steve deigned. "You should think about your daughter." He glanced at the picture proudly on display.

Danny's temper flared as he shivered at the cool, damp draft taking advantage of the open door. "My daughter is none of your business!" he pointed a warning finger at the man. "What happened to you leaving?" he waved his hand at the door.

Steve cleared his throat lightly, shifting in the chair, getting more comfortable, hands clasped loosely in his lap. "We have to talk, Danny."

"Ha!" Danny let out a bark of laughter. "That's the funniest thing I've heard you say since we've met." He swung the door closed with a bang that rattled the glass slates of his window on the same wall. There was a responding bang on the wall behind his kitchen from his neighbour. "I'm trying to **not** have a conversation here, you mind!" Danny hollered back. He heaved a sighed and carded a hand through his mussed hair, putting it in some semblance of slicked back one could get without any product or moisture.

Apparently the neurotic SEAL's ass was superglued to the chair and he wasn't going anywhere, and Danny didn't want to get a cold. He just gotten over a fever. He was just going to have to ignore the man.

He hunted down his pants from the back of the couch and slipped them on, definitely feeling better in more than just his boxers. Buckling his belt, he continued on straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. He took a leak, slicked back his hair, and took a couple of ibuprofen for the headache that was starting to bloom.

Taking a deep breath, he exited the bathroom, turned left, and a disappointed sigh left him on his exhale. Was it too much to ask for the guy to have gotten the message and left? Apparently it was, because the idiot was still on his goddamn chair! Danny gave a sharp inhale and pursed his lips to prevent himself from laying into the man, who had apparently decided to nest.

Steve tapped his fingers impatiently on the file on the table and growled under his breath. "Are you done with the childish silent treatment yet?" he snapped.

It took all of Danny's self-control to stay quiet as he walked into the kitchen, passed Steve and to the counter. His movements were sharp with barely controlled anger as he popped bread in the toaster and set the kettle on, prepping a mug from his dish cupboard. He was making more racket than was necessary but he had to get it out somehow or he was sure to explode.

"Hey," Steve wondered casually, "Mind making me another, too? Just black, thanks."

"Yes, I mind very much!" Danny snapped, unable to stand it any longer. He'd already sustained his silence longer than he'd thought possible with this man. "I can already see you made yourself right a home and made one yourself. So no, I'm not making you one. You are not having one. End of story. Period!"

"He speaks!" Steve cheered. "And I got thirsty waiting."

That last bit eerily made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "How l-"

"You know, we haven't known each other that long, but I find it oddly disconcerting when you're quiet. Weird."

Danny gave a wordless growl as he yanked his toast out of the toaster as it popped and forget his question. He violently spread margarine on it, wondering how good it would feel to spin around and stab the man in his chair with the blunt butter knife. Really pretty good, he knew. Throwing the toast on a small plate, he made his coffee with milk from the fridge. He slammed it, the contents rattling in the door. He was fully stocked, having expecting Grace to stay with him here instead of hotel as he nursed her through her fever.

He turned to Steve. "Get out of my chair!" he barked, grabbing the back of the rest and giving it a rough shake, jolting Steve around in the chair.

"All you had to do was ask." Steve stood, picking up the folder.

"Ask he says. Ask?!" Danny demanded. "Just like when I asked you to get the hell out of my apartment? Like that you mean?"

"I was happy to move," Steve shrugged and promptly sat on the edge of Danny's pullout. It squeaked and popped at his weight.

"And now you're sitting on my bed?" Danny gritted his teeth. "What the hell is wrong with you, sitting on my bed like that?"

Steve gave him a innocently confounded look. "You wanted the chair, this is the only other place to sit."

"You- you-" Danny's handed punctuated without clear control. "I don't even have words for you right now." He just shook his head and sat down at the café table, clunking his plate and coffee down.

"Bet that doesn't happen to you often, huh?" Steve noted, watching him in amusement.

"Shut up," Danny glared, taking a bite of his plain toast. He spoke after he swallowed, his Ma taught him not to speak with his mouth full; he wasn't an animal—like this guy clearly was. "You don't get to talk to me like we're old friends. We're not friends, we're not anything!"

"Fine, we're not friends." _Yet,_ Steve thought. "But I really need to talk to you about the case."

"Talk?" Danny gave a sarcastic laugh, throwing his half-eaten toast back on the plate. "Talk, as in have a conversation? Like I wanted to do back in the garage when you shut me down and called the Governor, kicked me off the case?" He dusted his fingers of the crumbs. " _That_ 's the case you want to talk about? Where I'm not _relevant_?"

Steve cringed at the reminder of that insult, it was one of the worse things he had said in that moment.

"So what's the problem? Army Intelligence not up to par with detective work?" he mocked.

"The _Navy_ , which you very well know. I'm in the reserves now." Steve snapped. "And you don't have to be such a condescending dick about it. You were right, okay?" he threw his hands up. "What do you want to me say? I'm sorry. I thought I had this handled, but this is nothing like Naval Intelligence. I know Hawai'i, I know our guy. But you have fresh eyes, and a knowing of detective work. I need you on this." He looked across at the man expectantly.

The blond stared at him, lightly smacking his lips in contemplation, his arms crossed over his chest. "Your apology is noted, and my acceptance is pending." Danny replied crisply. He turned back to his toast and coffee.

"Your acceptance is pending?" Steve gave an incredulous chuckle. He let it go at Danny's expression. "Alright. Alright. Let me know,"

"Sure." And Danny said no more.

Steve sighed. "Can we please...?" he waved the file.

"Fine." Danny relented. The sooner he gave Steve what he wanted to know, the sooner the Neanderthal would get the hell out of his apartment and hopefully his life. "Fred Doran: He's a suspected Arms Dealer. Two years Maui Correctional for weapons possession. He's currently a person of interest in an unrelated homicide. The weapon was never found." Steve was already opening his mouth to ask the obvious question and Danny rolled on, "When I ran a ballistics comparison to the bullet that killed your dad, I got a hit to the Doran investigation. See, the first thing I think _your guy_ did when he got on the island was hook up with Doran and get a gun."

Steve slowly nodded at the provided theory. "Okay, okay." He murmured to himself, rubbing his chin. "That makes sense. The last thing Hesse wants to do is stick around for me to catch up."

"Thanks," Danny retorted sarcastically, standing and depositing his dishes in the sink. He leaned back against the counter.

"Great," Steve gave a single-clap (that made Danny twitch) and jumped to his feet. "Let's go, partner."

"We're _strangers_ ," Danny reminded him. " _Not_ partners. Do you have short-term memory issues?" he gestured to his head with a flick of his fingers. "What are you not getting?

He paused and countered, "We're not strangers."

"We met once before. We're strangers. Reading my file, my reading yours, does not mean anything. And you just waltz in here. It's called boundaries, Steven! There's a Line!" He slashed his hand low horizontally between them. "This Line!" Danny pointed at Steve, "And you!" he made an over gesture with both hands. "Over the Line!"

"We're getting off topic." Steve groused. "This case kind of takes priority. Hesse is a flight risk."

"Off topic he says. No, this is exactly _on_ topic."

"D-"

"Wait." Danny held up a hand and stopped him as he seemed to remember and realize something. "How _long_ _ **exactly**_ have you been here?"

Steve gave a sigh and glanced briefly at his watch. "About ten hours, give or take." The blond was definitely going somewhere with this as well, just taking the long winded route apparently.

"Ten hours?! Give or take?!" his hand flew as he just tried to comprehend that. "Ten hours? Watching me sleep? Wh-"

"Not _watching_." Steve corrected. "Taking care of you."

"Taking ca-" That made the blond pause and backtrack. "What are you talking about?"

"I went to the precinct after the garage, talked to your captain, read through the case files. I came over to your apartment for this," Steve gestured the folder. "I knocked, didn't get an answer. It was only 1700, it was pouring out, I didn't have a ride—so I looked through your window. Y-"

Danny sputtered. "You loo-"

"Do you want to hear this?" Steve asked. "Are you going to let met talk? I would like to get a word in here edgewise if that's okay with you."

Danny inhaled sharply through his nose and made the mouth-zipping mime in a very violent and angry manner, then gave the brunette an impatient look.

"You didn't look good, even I could see that. Something had seemed _off_ with you back in the garage. So, I broke in. Maybe I was a little worried. Once I saw you there, I couldn't just leave you to die or get sicker—I _did_ need your help with tracking Hesse." Steve sighed. "You were also right about most of the other detectives at the precinct. They didn't seem to give a shit or want to bother helping me on this. So here we are," he gestured between them.

Steve waited for a response, but Danny just remained quiet and stared back at him. He continued because around Danny the silence just seem so unnatural and he felt the need to fill it with his own voice until the blond took over again. "You're right, I did read your file. That's how I figured out where you lived and what a good detective you are. No ring on your finger." His eyes flicked to Danny's left hand. "You obviously moved here to be close to your daughter." He jerked his head back towards the picture on the table behind him. "Which means in between visits all you've got is your job and you take pride in it."

"What are you, my new stalker?" he demanded, finally speaking, his shoulders tight. "That's so creepy!"

"It's not creepy." Steve protested with a scowl. "It's called gathering intelligence."

"You break into my apartment while I'm asleep, sick." Danny started to tick off on his fingers, "You make yourself home in my apartment." Tick. "You _nurse_ me through my fever." Tick. "You _watch_ me for ten hours—give or take. That. Is. Creepy." He splayed his fingers.

"It's not creepy, it was nice. It's called being proactive."

"Nice? Proactive? Oh, my God!" he cried out, both hands fisting at the sides of his head. "Do you hear yourself when you speak? You're not just over the Line—you're WAY over the Line, buddy. Beyond you're not even in sight. And what did I tell you about the file?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're a little sensitive, aren't you?"

"Sen-" Danny cut himself off and closed his eyes, taking several, deep and calm breaths. His voice was strained, "You are-"

Steve thought to move things along. They'd been sitting idle long enough and he knew Hesse wouldn't be. "The Governor gave me jurisdiction and lead on this case. I'm head of this Task Force and I'm making an executive decision of pulling you from H.P.D. and making you my partner." He tone brokered no room for argument, just fact, but Danny did anyway.

Danny actually choked on his own breath at that. "What the hell? You can't do that!" he protested.

"I have means and immunity." He told the shocked man. "And I'm using my means to make you my partner. My first act as head." Steve gave have him a deceptively genial smile. "Welcome to the team, partner."

"Are you out of your mind?" Danny queried him with an open mouth. "You're making me your partner? Was is that?" he huffed out a breath. "You're never going to leave, are you? You're just going to keep picking and picking until you get your way." He gave his head a sad little shake.

It was like his own personal nightmare.

They had both been pretty volatile when they met with barrels as intercepting company in the garage. Steve having lost his father. Danny not in the brightest of moods and fighting a fever. They'd both said things; both unnecessarily hurtful and disparaging. Getting under each others' skin in a rapid and startling rate for strangers.

But that didn't matter, it couldn't matter. Steve was right, he took his job seriously, he cared about his job. He wanted to keep the island safe for his daughter to grow up in. That's why he kept going back to H.P.D. despite the hostile workplace. As long as Grace was here on O'ahu, so was Danny Williams; detective and father. And that meant working the John McGarrett case. He did make the personal promise to catch the bastard who had done this, for his kids. And here was John McGarrett's son, trying to mend fences and asking (demanding, really) him back onto the case. Danny was nothing if not dutiful.

He ran a hand over his hair. "We're only partners for this case." Danny finally relented and pointed a stern finger of warning at the taller man. "I'd rather be stuck at H.P.D. than have to deal with your crazy-ass everyday."

"It'll be great." Steve promised. " _Partner._ " he gave the short-tempered blond a goofy grin. "We'll get along great."

"What so far has given you that impression, Steven?" Danny wondered.

Steve just gave him a simple shrug. "Just a feeling."

"A feeling, he says." Danny squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You need to get those _feelings_ doctored to, because they sound pretty off to me." He opened his eyes in time to see Steve striding for his door. "Hey, hey, hey!" Danny stopped his before he could get out the door. "What are you doing? I'm not ready, I need to get dressed."

Steve turned back to him and gave him a once over. "You looked fine. Just throw on some shoes, get you badge, gun and car keys." He said, "I don't have a car, we're gonna have to use yours."

"Several things, first of all." Danny riposted. "I'm not going out there like I just rolled out of a fever in crumpled clothes and the last thing I'm going to do is take fashion advice from you, Commander Can-do." He hunted for a pair of clean socks and leaned against the back of the pullout to slip them on. "Second, this bossy-thing… it's already old." He pulled a clean shirt from the hanger on his coat rack and slipped it on, buttoning it up all the way but for the collar top-bottom. He tucked it into his pants. "Third, you better not get me killed. I have a daughter and I want to see her grow up, not get blown away for a vendetta in this pineapple-infested hellhole." He pulled a dark tie from the rack and started to loop it around his collared neck.

"Please, not the tie!" Steve begged. "It's embarrassing. This is Hawai'i, no one is going to take you seriously as a cop like that. It screams ha'ole."

"My car, my lead. You don't get to dictate my clothing choices to me, _partner._ Fourth, no more ha'ole shit."He pulled the knot tight to punctuate his point as he made his way to the small table by the window and put on his gun and badge at his right hip, his wallet and hand cuffs taking a rear pocket each, and kept his keys in hand.

Danny gave him a sly smirk. "Now, when I tell you for the last time: get out of my apartment, will you listen?"

Steve glowered. "Simply because I got my way, not because you want me to." He shot back his own sly smirk, "And all you had to do was ask nicely." He quickly scampered out the door when it looked like Danny was about to get physical, down the stairs and into the early morning. The rain had finally let up, and he could just make out the upside-down U of a rainbow beyond the low rooftops. He had a good feeling that it was going to be a great day.

Danny cursed the man for his long legs and followed after, locking his door. "I hate him. I already hate him." But for some absurd reason, he was grinning.

It was the fever, totally the fever.

[end]

* * *

 **HAWAII . FIVE - 0**

 _Wow. You know how it is, you're writing and plots just grow a mind of their own and take over. It may have gotten a little out of hand, I'm pretty sure I jammed everything in there from several episodes so now they'll have nothing new to bring up and bicker about, eh? Please review or fav? Don't be shy. :)_


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